Writer's Block PW
by Pistolwink
Summary: Sima Yi's irritated and having trouble drafting a letter.  Zhang He helps him out by taking his mind off of the irksome assignment, and it works out quite nicely.  Short, fluffy little PWP romance.  What else is new.  Rated for slash.


Story by Pistolwink. Obviously, Pistolwink neither owns these characters nor the world they interact with.

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Sima Zhongda growls quietly, throwing down the brush onto the scroll before him. He heaves a sigh, brows knitted, obviously agitated by something.

Junyi looks up at the slap of the brush on the bamboo slats from his seat at the small table in the corner of the room.

"What is it?" he asks of the younger man.

"This damned letter I'm supposed to be writing..." responds the strategist, voice lowered with irritation. "...No matter how long I stare at the scroll, I just can't figure out how to start it."

Zhang He considers the cup of tea he's sipping on before placing it gently back on the table. He's quiet for a few moments, examining his fingernails absentmindedly.

"Well," he finally says. "I suppose you could take your mind off of it for a bit and do something else before coming back to it."

Zhongda slunches back in the chair, arms crossed. "What else is there to do?" he grumbles.

Junyi flashes a brief, mischievous smile. "I can think of a few things..." he lets the statement trail off at the end.

The strategist groans at his companion's suggestion.

"What? You mean _that_ wouldn't reroute your concentration?" The warrior's still teasing.

"Tch. It probably would, but it still doesn't solve my problem with this stupid thing." Sima Yi rolls up the still-empty scroll, giving up for the time being, and slides it into a bamboo tube with a thunk. "But it isn't writing itself, and I need to send it with the next messenger out to the front."

"I think you're getting too wrapped up in specifics." Junyi begins rubbing the younger man's shoulders. "My Zhongda, always getting hung up on details."

Sima Yi scowls a little and fires back. "Without my attention to detail, I wouldn't be in the advantageous situation I'm in."

"Always so serious, too..." the general murmurs, softly chiding.

Yi leans back in the chair and looks up at the other man.

Zhang He leans forward to kiss him, lightly at first. His lover allows him a deeper kiss, which he indulges in.

The amber-eyed man scoots his chair back from the table, stands, and embraces the warrior. Kisses become fevered, direct, aggressive. He finds himself shoved back onto the desk, one of Junyi's hands sliding up his leg. exploring his calf, thigh, buttock.

He tugs at the sash tied around his older lover's waist, deftly works the knot free, tosses the fabric to the floor. Both men are still more clothed than not, but they haven't taken long to arrive in enough of a state of undress to facilitate what they have in mind. There is a sort of delicious urgency to the situation, a thrill in the spontenaety of the act.

It isn't long before Junyi enters him, one of his lover's legs resting on his shoulder and the other wrapped around his waist as he leans forward, hands resting on the table at either of the other's hips. His face buried in his lovers neck, he breathes in Zhongda's aroused scent, making a trail of little nips and nibbles up his throat to his earlobe.

Yi's breath catches in his throat at the warm lips around his earlobe. He inhales sharply, need for release even more urgent now. Junyi always knows just what buttons to push, and causes another hitch in the flustered strategist's breathing as he takes the other's aching need in his hand, strokes him rhythmically.

The general quickens the pace, sensing that his lover is nearing his finish. Zhongda's breath is becoming ragged and little moans escape his lips as he gets ever closer to being swept over the edge in the wave of ecstacy that Junyi inevitably tears from him. He begs to be freed from this delectable slavery and his lover does so, releasing the pent-up heat.

He isn't long behind Sima Yi. He hunches forward, sobbing for breath, strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

Minutes later, both men have cleaned up, adjusted and smoothed their clothing. Neither acts as though anything has happened. Zhongda, his ever-present smirk on his face, has his scroll out on the table again and is writing; each hair precisely replaced, reads and sips his tea.

Sima Yi looks up. "Zhang He-" he says.

The general looks up from his book. "Yes?" he responds.

"I'm stuck again. I can't figure out how to end this letter."


End file.
